


We've Been Down Too Long (And We've Paid Our Dues)

by CPTAlpha_17



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: But also not, Canon Compliant, Diego-centric, Gen, Plot? Never met her, Pre-Canon, aka the semi irresponsible adventures of Diego Hargreeves, he's trying okay, i think, i'm sorry about the weird time skips, is that even a tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 07:21:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26349262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CPTAlpha_17/pseuds/CPTAlpha_17
Summary: Diego Hargreeves is seventeen when he leaves the Umbrella Academy.After a childhood spent under Reginald Hargreeves' care - if it can even be called that - he has little more to his name than the bag slung over his shoulder and the clothes on his back. (The name itself, of course, carries weight in some circles, but he refuses to throw it around just for a leg up. Fighting for an equal playing field is all he knows.) He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he’s determined to take matters into his own hands - and prove once and for all that his father doesn’t decide his fate.OrWhat happened when Number Two was finally free of Reginald Hargreeves’ regime.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from Newsies. 
> 
> Fair warning, I haven't even finished the first season yet, so I might get some things wrong, but bear with me. Originally intended to be a one-shot, will probably end up having multiple chapters.

Diego has seen this day coming for weeks now. (He’s dreamed of it for years, of course, but those increasingly desperate visions were nothing more than fantasies in the end.) Of the remaining siblings, Allison and Klaus are already gone. Allison to what would no doubt become a sparkling acting career - perhaps helped along by her particular brand of persuasion - and Klaus to… well, that was his business. If Diego’s private fears for Number Four kept him awake some nights, who's to know?

Of course it’s Luther who tries to stop him - Diego isn’t naive enough to hope that One will let him sever his connection to the Academy without a fight. That’s Luther all over, fulfilling his duty as their leader. (Diego doesn’t remember voting for him.)

Diego knows perfectly well that Luther is acting out of loyalty to their father rather than personal concern, so he has no trouble telling Luther to back off in no uncertain terms.

But Luther is determined to get the last word. _Fine._ He may be superior to Diego in every other way - or so Reginald always claimed - but he could never hope to match Diego’s fire. “You’re only thinking of yourself, as usual,” Luther hisses as he doggedly clumps down the stairs behind Diego.

It’s such an inane statement Diego can’t help rolling his eyes. Every decision he’s ever made has been premeditated by his father; accusing him of selfishness isn’t going to work.

Luther is still going. Diego catches words like _reckless_ and _traitor_ and even though he knows it would make his life easier to just ignore his brother, his anger is rising fast. He manages to keep his temper in check until Luther seizes his shoulder and wrenches him around.

Diego jerks himself free with a snarl. He’s been avoiding meeting his brother’s eyes until this point. Not out of fear, _never_ out of fear, but because he can already picture the look of pity and self-righteous frustration in One’s eyes. Diego loathes it. In this moment - like so many others - Luther is nothing more than a vessel for their father.

Diego sees Luther’s mouth moving, distantly registers his voice rising with every passing second, but he can only hear their father.

_Disappointment. Failure._

_Number Two._

* * *

Diego doesn’t know what he expected would happen after he left the academy. There is only what he thought _should_ happen, but that’s a world apart from reality.

What he knows for sure is this: for the first time in his life, he is free.

It’s… intoxicating, really, the thought that he can do as he pleases, that there is no one to hover over his shoulder radiating disapproval. It’s a heady feeling, but he’s careful not to lose himself to it. His hard-won discipline won’t allow it.

However exhilarating his newfound independence may be, he remains firmly rooted in the real world; Diego finds himself working odd jobs just to survive and scrape together some semblance of a decent life. He despises it, but the thought of returning to the academy in shame is enough to keep him from throwing it all away in a fit of rash pride.

It isn’t the work itself that rubs him the wrong way; most days it’s the people. They’re obnoxious and impatient and always, without fail, give him a look of pity when his stutter decides to show itself. The last thing he needs is their pity.

Still, Dad’s training was good for something, he grudgingly admits when he wrestles his temper into submission and responds with a tight smile rather than a snarl. He presents a bland face to even the most irritating patrons, ignoring the way his pulse hammers in his throat and his fingers itch for the reassuring feel of his knives.

Some days it takes all his willpower not to draw himself up and demand, _“Don’t you know who I am?”_ It would almost be worth it to watch _them_ stammer and sputter their way through the conversation for a change.

Then again, that’s more Allison’s style than his. Let her flaunt the family name and preen under the spotlight; he’ll work his way up from the bottom, one way or another.

And isn’t that fitting that even now, finally free from his father, Diego can’t escape his burden. Second best, always. Number Two to Luther’s One. Not as much of an outcast as Seven, but still… he’ll be lucky to break free of his father’s conditioning - if he ever does. It doesn’t take much to summon Reginald Hargreeves’ oft-recited lament that Diego, unlike _Number One_ , can’t seem to perform to standard. That alone was enough to cast him lower than even Vanya.

(But who is he to scorn Vanya when his skills barely provided any competition to Luther’s?)

So Diego nods and smiles and offers his assistance to the faceless customers that always seem to need one more thing or have a question about the one thing he doesn’t have the answer to.

(They don’t like when he says that.)

(In fact, they seem to prefer it when he doesn’t speak at all. But at the end of the day, they’re nothing more than minor inconveniences. He is Number Two, and he is free.)

* * *

“What about Mom?”

Frankly, Diego is surprised it took Luther so long to play that card. He’s been anticipating it ever since the first _maybe this isn’t a good idea_. It’s a low blow, and Luther knows it.

“Did it ever cross your mind that maybe I’ve thought this through?” Diego snaps, grinding to a halt just feet away from the main door. He doesn’t want to talk about Mom. (Really, he doesn’t want to talk about this at all, but Luther isn’t giving him much of a choice.)

Luther’s look of disbelief is almost comical. He’s trying too hard, as always - trying to be the voice of reason, the levelheaded one, Dad’s model control. _Grow up, Luther. We’re not six anymore_.

“I know you’ll do something you’ll regret,” One asserts, as if this is enough to dissuade Diego from leaving.

Diego blows out a long breath and turns to face his brother.

“I know that if I stay, I’ll regret that more than anything else.”

Luther doesn’t have an answer to that. He steps aside without another word.

* * *

“I didn’t wreck your gym  _ intentionally _ ,” Diego grumbles.

_ Wrecked _ is a strong word, anyways. So a few windows are broken and there’s debris scattered haphazardly across the floor. Big deal. This is good going compared to how things usually go. 

The man - the owner, he presumes - is going red in the face as he rails against irresponsible kids. Diego’s pretty sure there’s something about playing superhero in there too.

_ Ha. If only you knew. _

“Who’s in charge of you, boy?” the man bellows. 

Diego stiffens. He’s just shy of nineteen now, has gone nearly two years without any contact from his father or his siblings. It’s still a touchy subject. 

“No one’s  _ in charge  _ of me. Sir,” he adds as an afterthought. Maybe it’ll pacify the old man. Probably not. Diplomacy has never been one of Diego’s strong suits. 

The guy scowls. At least he doesn’t look on the verge of a heart attack anymore. Maybe Diego’s attempt at being polite did some good after all. 

“What’s your name, kid?” 

“Hargreeves.” 

It’s out of his mouth before he can think twice. In some ways, that response is probably better - easier for him to say smoothly. He’s been _ Number Two  _ longer than he’s been  _ Diego _ and  _ Hargreeves  _ longer than both. (He distinctly remembers Reginald drilling him again and again, making sure he could manage to say the name properly. He’d spend hours carefully sounding out the word until  _ Hargreeves  _ rolled off his tongue without the slightest hitch.) 

The man’s frown deepens like he’s trying to connect the dots. Diego hopes he doesn't. 

“Well, Hargreeves,” he says at last, “you’ve done a number on the building.” 

“Sorry about that.” And he  _ does _ feel bad. A little. But mostly he’s satisfied with the results of a night spent on the streets, tracking down criminals and taking them to task. 

“ _ Sorry  _ won’t pay for the damage,” the guy grouses.

If he had the resources, Diego would help cover the cost of replacing the windows. As it is…

“Look, is there anything I can do to help?” 

He’d really rather not, but he is partly responsible for the damage. Or starting the fight that led to the windows being smashed. He’s old enough to acknowledge his mistakes and try to rectify them where he can. No pointing fingers, no dodging the blame.  _ Take that, Luther.  _

The man seems to mull it over, staring at the shards of glass and muttering under his breath. Diego uses the time to scrub a hand over the mess of dirt and blood caked across his face. He realizes much too late that his current appearance probably isn’t doing him any favors. He almost asks the guy if there’s somewhere he can clean up but decides he’s made enough of a bad impression as it is. 

“There’s a few things here and there you can take care of,” the man concludes. “I could use a janitor.” 

Diego’s first instinct is to argue. He’s not looking for glory by any means, but a  _ janitor _ ? If this guy knew just what Diego is capable of, he wouldn’t dream of asking him to join the cleanup crew.

Then Diego takes another look at the remnants of last night’s exploits and sighs. 

“I’ll do it.”


	2. Chapter 2

Diego doesn’t know how it happens, but eventually he realizes he’s practically living out of Al’s gym now. Not the most conventional living arrangement, but better than what he had going before. (Better than Klaus, he guesses, but he doesn’t like to think of his brother for very long. Too many unspoken fears lie there, and he’s never been good at handling fears that don’t reveal themselves until his mind is quiet and his body still.) 

He and Al managed to reach an understanding, of sorts, once Diego was satisfied that the guy wasn’t going to beat him senseless with a mop. Al has learned not to ask too many questions about the knives or Diego’s absence every night, and Diego knows not to talk back when the old man snaps at him to work faster or stop being such a smart ass. 

Truthfully, it’s not that much better than any of Diego’s other jobs - all of which he has since lost for a number of reasons - but he makes do with what he has. During the day, he cleans the floor. At night, Diego steps back in time, drawing on his training to thin out the city’s criminal population.

It’s thankless work, just like everything else he does, but it’s also _satisfying_ in a way he can’t replicate anywhere else. 

On the rare nights he retreats to the solitude of the boiler room rather than the ever-evolving chaos of the streets, he can’t help wondering where his siblings are now. If they’d made something of themselves beyond what they were raised to be. From time to time he catches a glimpse of Allison’s face front and center on newspapers and magazines littering the street. True to his expectations, she’s landing big roles left and right. (Is that really his sister?) 

He can’t say for sure what Vanya is up to now. Probably something music related; she and her violin are inseparable. (She’s his sister, too, but she has the luxury of being _ordinary._ ) 

Some nights he even wonders about Luther. He doubts his brother would ever truly separate himself from the academy; the burden of being One, Diego supposes, like it’s really a burden at all. 

He doesn’t wonder about Klaus. (He only stays up until all hours of the night, fretting over his brother and wishing he could help somehow.) He doesn’t wonder about Five or Ben, either. Then again, it’s not like he has to stretch his imagination to think about Ben. It is, quite literally, a dead end. And Five… like Ben, there’s nothing to tell. 

Maybe they think about him, too. Diego’s not sure if he likes that idea or not. On one hand, it would be nice to know they still care on some level. On the other, none of them can think about the others without dredging up painful memories. On balance, he’d rather not be the cause of undue emotional distress. 

As a rule, he avoids thinking about his past when he’s out on the streets; he can’t afford distractions. But one night - or more likely morning by now, he thinks wryly - he finds himself thinking of his siblings as he stumbles his way down the stairs, battered and exhausted. He’s careful to make sure the blood trickling down his arm doesn’t end up on the floor. Al doesn’t like opening the door to a mess first thing in the morning.

He shrugs out of his shirt, wincing as his arm aches anew. It’s a lingering injury from another time, when he realized too late that he’d bitten off more than he could chew. He doesn’t have the means to get it checked. (If part of his reluctance stems from his deep-seated fear of needles, he opts to ignore it.) 

It’s times like this that he recalls all the missions with his siblings, and while Diego doesn’t consider himself a sentimental man there’s a pang of nostalgia in there somewhere. Things had been simpler then, however much he’d come to hate his life under Reginald Hargreeves’ jurisdiction. He had been Number Two - part of a machine. Then he’d become Diego, still a part of the machine. Then he’d finally broken his link to the machine and set out to make his way in the world as Diego Hargreeves. 

_And what do I have to show for it? A mattress in a boiler room and a job mopping floors._

But through it all, he knows who he is. That’s enough for now. 

(It has to be.) 

* * *

A few weeks of helping out at the gym here and there becomes a few months becomes a year and a half. Al turns a blind eye to the after hours goings-on, and Diego makes sure he doesn’t leave too much of a mess. 

It’s high time he did something worthwhile with his life, but he has no clue where to start.  His father isn’t one to offer career advice.  (Besides, even if Reginald had anything useful to say, Diego would make a point of doing the precise opposite.)

Diego isn’t a big believer in fate or destiny or any grand philosophical concepts, but he knows things aren’t meant to be this way forever. As much as he scoffs at the term, deep down he knows his destiny doesn’t include a mop and a boxing ring. He’s  _ special _ , to borrow a word from his father. (Every kid is desperate for validation. But special doesn’t mean anything anymore. Diego is supposed to be special, but ask his father on any given day and he would launch into a tirade about _ Number Two’s _ flaws.) 

But at least working at the gym guarantees a roof over his head. He suspects some of his siblings - one in particular, though Diego is reluctant to put much thought into what Four is doing these days - can’t say as much. 

Five used to taunt him for his pride - like he wasn’t full of it himself, the little bastard - but lately Diego has no choice but to suck it up just so he can get by. He has no intentions of returning to the Academy just because he’s more uncertain now than he ever has been. Leaving the Academy had been wonderfully simple. A matter of  _ when _ , not  _ if.  _ Things in the real world are so drastically different that every question starts with  _ if.  _ Diego hates being uncertain. 

He would never admit it to someone - least of all himself - but he’s… not  _ grateful _ , exactly. More appreciative, maybe, in hindsight. At the Academy, he went where his father sent him and spoke when he was spoken to. He had a direction - or at least one was handed to him, to some extent. Life was simple, in its own way. (But Diego had plenty of unanswered questions even then. Even Reginald, for all his prestige and wealth, couldn’t do anything about that.) 

(His father always became conveniently deaf whenever Diego raised any of the questions that haunted him at night.) 

Diego guesses this period of variability isn’t unique to him. Then again, he probably isn’t the best judge of typical development, given his childhood. 

So he’ll wait. 

He’s not his father’s son anymore. Isn't that what he's always wanted?

He knows who Diego Hargreeves is, even if he doesn’t know who he’ll become.  Everything will fall into line accordingly. And when it does … 

Well, Diego is more than ready to go out and meet it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm bad at progressing the plot. What's new? 
> 
> I was hoping this one might turn out a bit longer, but I'll leave it as is for now before I keep prattling on about one thing or another.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I switch tenses in a few places, I read back through to make sure it's consistent but I may have missed some spots.

“You got any family, Hargreeves?” 

Diego hates that question. Usually he gives one-word answers, sparing on the details. Bad enough his family’s history is on full display to the public in every major news outlet and even some of the more obscure ones; he doesn’t want to recount his childhood for every stranger who happens to recognize his surname. 

So he settles for a shrug and a vague, “Yeah. Two sisters, three brothers.” 

Well, four. (Or would it be two, since Five is… well, they don’t know exactly.) But he’s certainly not going to get into that now. 

“Big family,” the guy chuckles.

Diego shrugs again noncommittally. He’s not one for idle chatter most days, and this guy is just one of many who frequents Al’s gym to mold himself into a paragon of masculinity (at least in his own mind). Diego doesn’t even know his name. 

He may be well-meaning -  _ make the janitor feel like he’s not forgotten  _ \- but the guy is also annoyingly persistent. “So where do you fall? Youngest? Oldest? Somewhere in the middle?”

Ugh, why do people always think they’re entitled to ask these things? Does he somehow give off the impression that he  _ wants  _ to engage in mindless chit chat? 

Diego hesitates, then says, “Middle.” (He carefully avoids saying  _ Number Two. _ ) 

He's hoping his brusque replies are enough to deter the man from pursuing further conversation, but Diego is sadly mistaken. His previous statement gives the guy an opening to launch into a long-winded account of his experience as the middle child of a family -  _ my oldest brother always thought he was better than us, imagine that!  _ \- that has Diego wondering if maybe he hadn’t had such a bad deal after all, growing up a member of the Umbrella Academy.

His family is a bit strange, he’ll admit that freely. But normal families are downright  _ weird _ . 

Diego hurriedly invents a plausible reason to leave the man behind, then makes his escape. Hearing ordinary people talk about their families is… unsettling, to put it lightly. He knows he’s not normal for a number of reasons, can never be normal, but he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t ever harbored private hopes of making some sort of normal life for himself away from the Academy. Not that he knows what normal _ is _ ; the best he can do is observe and imitate as best he can.

Leaving home at seventeen? Not too unreasonable. Maybe a bit younger than most people expect, but old enough that people don’t pry. Usually. 

Three years of radio silence from his siblings? If nothing else, people usually understand that he’s not interested in divulging the details.

Living in the boiler room of an old gym to support his lifestyle as a part time janitor with a side hobby of vigilantism? 

That’s just how things are now. It’s bizarre, Diego  _ knows  _ it’s bizarre, but the fact is he’s more uncertain than he’s ever been in his life and once or twice he even catches himself wondering how his father would react if he were to return to the Academy - 

But that only happens on the worst nights, when he doesn’t have anything to occupy his body, so his mind compensates by running wild, producing ideas that become more and more outlandish the longer he stays awake. 

Diego glances over his shoulder to make sure Al isn’t going to intercept him, then ducks out of the gym. It’s nearly midmorning now; there isn’t much work to be done, and seeing as he doesn’t have another job - not for lack of trying, although the last woman he talked to wasn’t too interested in hearing more after learning he had once gotten fired within thirty minutes of his hiring - he’s free to wander. 

He lets his mind drift as he walks. He would never admit it aloud, but he’s been away from his siblings long enough that he wouldn’t mind if one of them reached out from time to time. Allison gets a pass because she’s on the other side of the country wooing directors and audiences alike; Luther is never Diego’s first choice, but Diego might be willing to turn a blind eye to his brother’s mindless loyalty to their father - though he certainly wouldn’t let it go unchallenged. 

Five isn’t an option - not that he ever gossiped much - and the best Diego can figure, Klaus is off exploring the more... _ unsavory _ side of the city. (Part of Diego still wants to help his brother somehow, but Klaus is an adult now, same as the rest of them. He’s perfectly capable of making his own decisions, even if it’s plain to Diego that his judgement is lacking at the best of times.) 

He could always go to Vanya, but she’s hardly privy to the latest family goings-on. Maybe it’s unfair, but that’s how things always have been and probably how they always will be. They have powers; she doesn’t.  _ End of story.  _

The blaring of a car horn brings him back to the world. It takes him a second to place where he is, but when it clicks, his stomach drops and his pulse takes on a rapid cadence. He hadn’t meant to come this way; in fact, he’d set out with the intent to avoid it entirely. 

And yet Diego finds himself staring at the front gates of the Umbrella Academy. Ugly, he thinks, and unnecessary to boot. Another of his father’s displays of vanity. 

“Useless,” he informs the gates. 

He stares at them a while longer. He doesn’t want to be here, but he can’t quite bring himself to leave, either. 

“Stupid,” he mutters at last, glaring at the umbrella design twisted cleverly into the metal. 

_ You used to be proud of it _ , his mind whispers traitorously, as if he needs reminding. 

“Yeah, well, I used to live here,” Diego says aloud. 

_ You are  _ special. 

He recognizes his father’s voice now. Funny how it always takes over, overwhelms his own voice until he can’t hear himself anymore. It’s not welcome by any means, but it’s certainly not unexpected, either. Another thing he has to thank Reginald for… one day. 

(He can only hope he’ll have the courage.) 

“You don’t know what that means. Not really,” Diego decides. 

The umbrella symbol is unmoved. Diego’s been standing here long enough that people are starting to cast him puzzled looks as they pass by, but he can’t find it in himself to care. They are  _ ordinary _ , and he is anything but.

The mark on his wrist seems to burn with the thought. Diego clenches his fists against the wave of nausea that threatens to overtake him when he recalls that day. He and his siblings - minus Vanya - have that much in common, at least: the stark umbrella symbol etched into their skin. 

Whatever else he’d felt once upon a time, he doesn’t take any pride in that. He can’t help thinking of it as a branding - a physical reminder that he and his siblings will never fit in with the rest of the world. 

“I hated you, you know,” Diego tells the gates conversationally. (Maybe his father is listening somehow. Reginald has his ways of hearing the things that aren’t meant to be heard.) “For a long time. But whatever kind of father you were, I’m done. I’m moving on.”

He pauses, then adds hastily before his father can swoop in and demand the truth, “I’m not Number Two anymore.” 

Then he turns on his heel and walks away.

(He could never tell his father, because even now he can’t help longing for Reginald’s approval.)

At least his father didn’t hear him lie.

(Diego hates himself, some days.) 

He’s a middle child, somewhere behind Luther and presumably ahead of Vanya, though he can’t say for sure. He has a big family: two sisters and four - or three - or maybe two brothers. He’s moving on from his father, because he’s an adult now, and his time is long since past. 

There’s more to the story, of course. (There always is.) 

Because no matter what he says and no matter what kind of life he fabricates for himself - built on half truths and full of vague, unsatisfying replies - he is Diego Hargreeves. He is Number Two, and he is Reginald’s son. 

_ Not anymore _ . 

(It sounds feeble even to himself.)

(And he really hopes to confront his father one day?) 

Diego repeats it, hoping that maybe he’ll start to believe it one day soon. 

_ I’m not Number Two anymore.  _

_ I’m not his son.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... clearly had no direction for this and clearly did not even attempt to organize it. But let me know your thoughts anyways. Always appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

Diego isn’t sure when he first notices it. 

He’s become accustomed to anonymity; the cameras and media attention of his childhood are a thing of the past - something he’s undoubtedly thankful for. He never liked being paraded around by their father, made out to be the saviors of the world.

(How old were they the first time? Ten? Twelve?) 

It starts with the whispers. (He distinctly remembers the calls of  _ Diego!  _ and  _ Hey, Number Two!  _ He’d loathed the attention, though he couldn’t say as much for all of his siblings. Their father’s to the end, Luther had always smiled, genial and composed.) 

(Klaus never failed to make Diego laugh when he wasn’t supposed to, pulling faces and making off-color comments about the throngs of reporters and civilians.) 

He misses it the first few days. Usually he’s too absorbed in his own thoughts to bother listening in on any of the wide-ranging conversations in the gym, but one day he happens to catch a few snippets of a discussion. It brings him to a halt as he stares, disbelieving. 

“Those Umbrella kids - ”

“Seven of ‘em right here in the city, can you imagine?” 

“I remember hearing about it, but I never paid much attention.” 

Okay, that’s not unusual; the Academy seems to surface in public discourse from time to time. Still, it’s not any less unsettling to hear his history thrown about so freely. Diego finds himself absently rubbing the tattoo on his wrist.

Of course that’s when Al spots him lurking in the corner, and - with no regard to who might overhear - yells across the gym, “Get a move on, Hargreeves!”

The conversation grinds to a halt. Too many sets of eyes turn in his direction. Diego can’t help stepping back nervously; he’d nearly forgotten how discomfiting it is to be abruptly thrust into the spotlight. 

He moves to pull his sleeve down over the umbrella tattoo. Too late he realizes that the movement draws more attention, and there’s enough light that the symbol on his arm stands out against his skin. 

The silence is suffocating. Diego waits to hear his father’s voice, proud and cold, announcing the Umbrella Academy to the world, but there are no longer six, or five, or even four. No  _ Umbrella Academy;  _ simply  _ Number Two.  _

(His heart always beat a little too fast and his breath always came a little too short, back when they were kids and the sheer size of the crowds was overwhelming.) 

(In those moments he was deeply thankful he isn’t Number One.)

The questions come in a rush; Diego can hardly distinguish between one and the next. He doesn’t bother answering, simply shrugging from time to time and hoping someone will pick up on his discomfort. 

_ Which one are you _ ?

_ What is your father like?  _

_ Is it true? Do you have powers?  _

Through it all he wonders what sparked their interest. The Umbrella Academy is a thing of the past, for all intents and purposes. But if something  _ has  _ happened… his father’s name still makes headlines. Diego would know, one way or another.

Al finally takes pity on him and herds the small crowd away. Diego lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and tries to gather his thoughts. 

It was bound to happen eventually, he thinks, but it’s not much of a comfort. They’ll never look at him in quite the same way again- put off by either the name or the realization that there’s something about him that’s a little more than ordinary. 

(The thought hurts more than he cares to admit.) 

He heads for the boiler room to catch his breath. Al won’t mind - and if he does… well, now he knows that Number Two isn’t like the rest of the world. 

He pauses on his way downstairs to pick up a book that’s fallen out of a locker and makes a detour to drop it on the counter for its owner. Diego doesn’t pay it much mind until he catches a glimpse of the name on the cover and his blood runs cold. 

* * *

Diego doesn’t take it well. 

Really, he hadn’t wanted to open the book at all. Just reading the title was enough to make his throat tighten with anger. But his burning curiosity had gotten the best of him, and he flipped through the first few pages, feeling oddly guilty for wondering just what she’d written.

_ A hard thing for a little girl to hear.  _

As if she had it any harder than the rest of them? 

_ … when the benchmark is extraordinary… _

Does she think they  _ asked  _ for this? 

Diego is forced to set the book aside; his hands are shaking too badly for him to read it properly. He can’t figure out  _ what  _ he’s feeling, except for the anger that’s making his stomach churn and his pulse race. He and Vanya were never close, but he can’t see this as anything other than a betrayal. 

So this is why everyone is suddenly so interested in the Umbrella Academy: his _ sister _ has seen fit to lay everything out for the world to see. Never mind that all of them had finally detached themselves from the academy for one reason or another.

_ Which one are you?  _

Diego grudgingly concludes that there’s nothing he can do but go about his life, book or no. If his sister wants to remain caught in the past, fine.  _ Her mistake.  _

(There’s no one looking at him now, but he distinctly remembers the sensation of being  _ scrutinized  _ by the reporters. Like they would never see anything more than an experiment.)

(His father wasn’t any better.) 

Diego makes sure the umbrella tattoo is hidden before heading back upstairs. The damage is done, but maybe he can limit the extent before it’s too late. 

Everyone is going about their business as usual. Things look normal, and for a split second Diego makes the mistake of hoping that nothing has changed.

But it’s impossible to ignore the lingering glances, the mutters they think he can’t hear. Now the questions of  _ which one are you?  _ have evolved to  _ that’s Number Two.  _

Diego sighs and makes his way over to the counter to pick up the phone. 

If he’s a little more reckless out on the streets that night -  _ impulsive,  _ as his sister puts it - who’s to know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I completely forgot about Vanya's book until I rewatched episode 3 today, but it gave me a plot for this chapter! XD


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, not sure how I feel about this one. I like parts of it, but I also feel like I just rambled on for way too long. I did have fun making up snippets of Vanya's book, though.

Diego last set foot in the Academy four years and a lifetime ago, but he is resigned to encountering snippets of his past just about everywhere he goes.

That’s the problem, he thinks. No matter how often he tells himself he has well and truly separated himself from his childhood and his father at last, there’s always another obstacle in his way. And because he doesn’t know how to do it any other way, Diego throws himself into it wholeheartedly, refusing to back down until whatever is blocking his path has been removed. 

( _ Out of all of us, Number Two had the least regard for his own safety or that of others when presented with a challenge. He would become frighteningly singleminded, relentless in his efforts to prove himself. Our father disapproved greatly, but there was nothing to be done when Number Two put his mind to something.)  _

(The book became target practice.) 

He’d suffered through the endless questions about Vanya’s book as gracefully as he could; he even did his best to scrape together something of a satisfying response. Eventually, however, his patience wore thin and he put a stop to the impromptu interrogations altogether. 

All in all, Diego thinks he’s doing a decent job of pretending to have his life together. If he tunes out the whispers and ignores the stares, he could even go so far as to argue that he does, in fact, lead a fairly normal life.  _ Ordinary.  _

It’s not the heady fantasy it used to be, but he would take the life he’s made for himself over the life his father forced on him any day. He can keep up the act as long as he keeps his past at a distance.

But  _ distance  _ always had been a foreign concept to Number Four, and it proves to be Diego’s undoing a few weeks after Vanya’s book enters the world with a bang that has him glancing over his shoulder with a knot in his stomach and his heart in his throat. 

Granted, Diego has been expecting this to happen for some time. He’s even assembled a vague idea of how it’s supposed to go, the script they’re supposed to follow. But Number Four, being Number Four, arrives with a bang comparable to an atomic bomb and promptly disregards whatever boundaries Diego has constructed in his mind. 

( _ Never one for conversation, Number Two rarely engaged in discussions outside of training-related matters. This reluctance could have stemmed from a number of things; our father often berated him for a stutter my brother struggled with throughout our childhood. And although Sir Reginald Hargreeves is anything but a quitter, he recognized defeat in the face of Two’s strong will and instead found a way to take advantage of it, pressing the rivalry between One and Two until Two fought tooth and nail to outdo the other in almost every way. Sometimes I think Two convinced himself that if he presented himself as equally or even more mission-oriented than One, our father would look at him with new eyes and, perhaps, value him as he valued One. _ ) 

Number Four’s entrance comes not long after sunset. Diego is meandering through the streets as is his custom, knife in hand and hoping for a challenge. Even he won’t deliberately seek out a fight - contrary to his siblings’ beliefs - but at the same time, he doesn’t shy away if one arises.

The petty thieves that haunt the alleys waiting for sundown have come out to play, but they’re not worth Diego’s trouble. He’ll step in if they hold a switchblade to some hapless citizen’s throat, but for now, they give him a wide berth and he overlooks them in the hopes of snaring a bigger prize. 

A few blocks outside of the city proper now, he aims for the desolate stretch of road between the last of the towering corporate buildings and the bridge that leads out of the city. He can find action there on a good night, with trouble on the way back if he’s lucky. 

As it turns out, he doesn’t have to wait that long. 

The sound of feet slapping against the pavement in a near sprint is a sign of trouble on any given day. The  _ thud-thud-thud  _ registers a split second before he reacts, dropping and twisting so he comes up facing the city with the bridge at his back. 

A solitary figure is on a collision course with him. Diego adjusts his stance with the ease of long practice, ready to move with the impact -- but he can’t deny his gut feeling that something is off here and so makes the mistake of standing up straight. 

He winds up tumbling to the pavement, landing solidly on his back hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. He’s on his feet within seconds in anticipation of the next blow, but it never comes. 

The man on the ground makes a slower recovery. He pushes himself to his knees unsteadily, cursing as he does, then staggers to his feet. And Diego still can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t quite right, but it’s different from his usual warning system. He watches the man devote an inordinate amount of time to making sure every article of mismatched clothing is brushed clean and decides there is no threat here. 

“Sorry about that,” Diego mutters, which he feels is awfully considerate, seeing as he absorbed the brunt of the impact. 

“I know you hate when I’m overly dramatic, brother dear, but I am  _ wounded _ . Only four years, and you don’t recognize your own brother?” 

The world doesn’t exactly drop out from under his feet, but it seems to tilt dramatically. 

“ _ Four _ ?”

And just like that, Number Four is suddenly part of his life again, all good humor and questionable fashion sense. 

“I wasn’t trying to run into you, for the record,” Klaus informs him, “so no holding it against me.” With his usual disregard for personal space, he lurches towards Diego, arms held wide for a hug. 

Diego sidesteps and acts like he doesn’t notice the crestfallen look flashing across his brother’s face. Like the day at the gym when people put two and two together and recognized him as a product of Sir Reginald Hargreeves’ regime for the first time, everything is happening too fast. 

Klaus has already embarked on a long-winded tale, waving his arms for effect. Diego can’t follow half of it but nods along anyways. When his brother finally pauses to take a breath, Diego says, “You’ve been following me?” 

“Only for the past ten minutes or so,” Klaus answers cheerfully. 

Diego is wise to Four’s ways and says slowly, “I’m guessing there’s a reason for that.”

“What, I can’t spend quality time with my brother?” 

“Knocking me over doesn’t count as quality time. Now stop deflecting the question.” 

“Alright, alright,” Klaus grumbles petulantly and for a moment, they are eleven again. “So I was admiring your...  _ superhero  _ getup from afar and wanted a better look.” 

Diego ignores the gibe. “Look, you can’t follow me anymore. Okay?” 

“So much for a tearful reunion. Are we pretending to be a big bad wolf, Two?” 

( _ Four and Two were either best friends or mortal enemies, depending on the day. Four has a natural tendency to say the things most people keep to themselves, and Two’s temper is unfortunately short at best. Four would always jump to Two’s defense if necessary, but he would taunt him just as often. I think Two was often taken aback when Four turned on him, and so his anger came from a place of surprise and hurt, though he would deny it. _ ) 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Diego sighs, knowing perfectly well that will do little to dissuade Four.

“Not exactly. Besides, I think the social scene could manage without me for a few minutes,” Klaus says slyly. Diego deliberately ignores the implications of his brother’s words and decides there’s nothing more he can do than wait him out.

“Have you been back?” Klaus asks abruptly. 

Diego hesitates, then shakes his head. 

“I figured as much. I broke in a few months back - ” 

“Excuse me?” 

“ - but it was nothing to write home about,” Klaus finishes, waving a hand airily. 

“Why would you go back?” Diego demands, harsher than he intended. He remembers Four’s impassioned rants against their father, his lovingly crafted, oft-recited plans for  _ one day, when I’m out of this place…  _

“Oh, I thought I’d drop by, see what goes on now that One is the last man standing.” Klaus’ tone is deceptively light. 

“I don’t believe you,” Diego says flatly. 

“Blunt as ever, brother dear… if you must know, I wanted to  _ borrow  _ some of Dad’s more valuable possessions. I’m sure he hasn’t even noticed they’re gone.” 

Diego can only marvel at his brother’s sheer lack of competence. 

“I saw Pogo, by the way. Looked about the same. Didn’t see Dad, of course, but that’s not exactly a surprise,” Klaus prattles on, unaware that he is straying into dangerous territory. “He was probably shut up in his study, plotting some morally questionable scheme. And Mom - ”

“Okay, I get it,” Diego interrupts, because if there is one thing he does not want to talk about, it’s his mother. “You had a great field trip.” 

( _ Two’s affection for Grace was almost startling in its intensity. For all that he loathed One and strove to outshine the rest of us, he was completely devoted to the woman that became our mother. More than once, he rebuked us for treating her as anything less than human. _ ) 

“You’re not running off on me, Two?” 

Klaus can play betrayed all he wants, but Diego doesn’t think he can stand another minute of this conversation. Maybe his brother can freely throw around those names like they hadn’t carried such weight in their childhood; Diego isn’t ready to confront all of that just yet. There’s too much buried pain there, and he’s not sure he can hold up under it. 

(It’s wrong, to let one person become a point of such weakness. But this is his  _ mother _ . Surely he’s not wrong for loving her.) 

Klaus grabs at his hand, same as he always did when Diego grew tired of the others’ underhanded taunts and stormed away, much to Luther’s chagrin. Diego wrenches his hand free. 

“Look, Diego, if it’s something I did - ”

“I’m not going back,” Diego snaps.

Klaus seems caught off guard by his anger. “I wasn’t saying you should.” 

( _ Why our father never discouraged Two’s bond with our mother, I can’t say. Perhaps he understood that doing so would mean fighting a losing battle. _ ) 

Being near someone who knows him so well - who has seen him at his weakest, his most vulnerable, who knows that Diego is inseparable from the Academy and their father no matter what he does, just like the rest of them - is suffocating. Just like when he was dragged into the spotlight after Vanya’s book, being forced to acknowledge that he has one foot in both worlds is too much for him to process. 

“Take care of yourself,” Klaus says softly, like he’s only now realizing the impact of his earlier words and is doing his best to run damage control. 

It’s a good night, outside the city at the junction of the bridge and the highway. Diego doesn’t return to the gym until dawn, no worse for the wear other than the scrapes on his palms from trying to break his fall when Klaus collided with him. If not for that, he thinks, he could almost convince himself none of it had ever happened. Because really, twenty minutes - out of four years - is almost nothing. 

Diego rinses the grit from his hands. He remembers flinching away when Grace spread ointment over his palm after he’d taken a nasty fall during a training session with Luther. She’d smiled, and he’d found himself smiling back, even though the ointment stung and he knew full well the cuts would be reopened by dinnertime.

He wonders what she would think now.


End file.
